Walk On
by Littleforest
Summary: [Complete] One-Shot, set post-Deathly Hallows. "Aberforth Dumbledore knew he was nothing like his brother. Except, when it came to Harry Potter, maybe he was. And maybe, just maybe, that wasn't such a bad thing after all."


**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.**

 **A/N –** Hello one and all, and welcome to my newest Harry Potter one-shot! I'll be honest, this story came a little out of the blue (I'm still working on my other stories, I promise!), and it features one of the least used characters in fanfiction – which I happen to think is a shame, because there is so much potential for him, and so many stories that could be written. You know, like this one. Anyway, I hope you like it. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Walk On**

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Aberforth Dumbledore, pub landlord and keeper of goats, was tired.

He sighed as he glanced around his dark, empty pub, with its grimy windows, musty smell, and unfilled chairs. The Hog's Head had never been a popular hang-out for the witches and wizards of Britain – something he'd always rather liked about the place in the past - but in the aftermath of Voldemort's demise only one week ago, the majority of his normal clientele had disappeared, leaving his pub emptier than ever.

And with the memories of the final battle still rolling around in his head, Aberforth found that he didn't like the solitude quite so much anymore.

With another heavy sigh that didn't bring him any semblance of peace, Aberforth picked up a wet rag, ran a hand over his face, and began to wipe down the tables; more out of habit than necessity it had to be said. The truth was, he just didn't know what else to do. The war was over. It was now time for rebuilding, for regrouping, for taking stock of one's life and the people in it.

Except, like his pub, Aberforth's life was very empty indeed.

Truth be told he'd been tired for years; decades, even. It was a bone-weary tiredness as well; a tiredness that had sunk into his bones and sucked the very life out of him, leaving him a grey-haired, miserable old coot who always went out of his way to give them impression that he didn't care. About anything. Or anyone.

Except, of course, he did. Or he had, anyway, at least until old wars and family feuds had left him alone again.

Now he didn't have anyone to care about. His last link to family, his brother, had been buried over a year ago, and since he'd never been able to create a family of his own – one of the only things he and his brother had had in common – the Dumbledore name would die with him.

And what a miserable way for it to go.

Aberforth wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead and decided suddenly to call it a night. He was fighting a weariness that would have challenged even his esteemed brother, so he put down the rag, summoned a glass and a bottle of his oldest Firewhiskey, and took a seat at one of the tables. It was by no means late, but if today followed the same pattern as the rest of the week, it was probably safe to assume that he wouldn't get any more visitors tonight…

Of course, that was the moment that Harry Potter decided to walk into his pub.

"Hello?" Potter said uncertainly, glancing around the pub until his green eyes met Aberforth's. "Oh…erm, hello, Mr Dumbledore."

It took a few seconds but once he got over his shock at seeing the saviour of the Wizarding World standing in his grimy pub again, Aberforth's instincts took over. He looked more closely, his blue eyes – so like his brother's – scanning over Potter, taking in everything he could. Truth be told, Aberforth didn't like what he saw.

The boy looked gaunt, like he hadn't been eating properly for days, and he looked exhausted, like he hadn't been sleeping properly for years. In fact, Aberforth's first impression was that Potter looked like he was about to drop. He looked even more exhausted than Aberforth felt, and that was saying something.

Most of all though, Potter looked like he still had the weight of the world on his shoulders, which was concerning to say the least, considering the fact that the boy had actually defeated Voldemort over a week ago now...

"So how can I help you, Mr Potter?" Aberforth asked with frown that he didn't even try to hide. Because one thing was clear; Harry Potter needed help.

"Erm…are you still open?" Harry replied, glancing around at the empty pub with a frown of his own.

"Indeed, I am. Come," Aberforth said, gesturing to the chair opposite him. "Sit. Have a drink. I assume that's why you're here?"

The boy didn't answer, but neither did he sit down. Instead he just seemed to stand there, looking tired and a little bit lost. Aberforth wondered what had happened. Then he realised that in the last week, everything had.

"Don't let the lack of patrons fool you, lad," Aberforth began with false cheer, gesturing again towards the other seat at his table. This time Potter finally sat down, albeit reluctantly. "The Hog's Head is the place to be on many a rainy Thursday night."

The teenager didn't smile at the joke, so Aberforth didn't either. Instead, Aberforth summoned another glass, filled it liberally with Firewhiskey, and then nudged it towards Potter.

The young man nursed it for a second, before taking a long drink. He grimaced as the Firewhiskey went down, but he didn't cough or splutter. Aberforth was actually about to say something about it – quite what, he didn't know – but Potter beat him to it.

"Thanks," Potter mumbled, eyes downcast.

Aberforth just grunted in reply and took a drink himself.

"I don't know why I'm here," Potter began after a few minutes, fiddling with a loose thread on his jacket. "Well, actually, that's not true. I just wanted to get away for a bit. I was just at the Three Broomsticks, but…well, I…erm, I thought I'd just have a quiet drink here instead…"

Aberforth frowned. He was good at reading people, always had been, and it was clear to him that as true as that statement might be, Potter was definitely holding something back. What it was, Aberforth didn't know, but of course he _did_ know that it would be no good to try and pry it out of the boy. Best to let him open up on his own…

"I doubt you'll be able to have a quiet drink ever again." Then Aberforth reconsidered for a moment. "At least in the Wizarding World…"

Potter scowled in frustration. "Tell me about it," he mumbled, before taking another long drink.

Aberforth frowned again. Clearly there was something going on with the boy, and not for the first time, Aberforth wondered why Potter was alone. As far as he was aware the boy had been staying with the Weasleys since the end of the war, and he couldn't imagine they'd feel very comfortable letting him out of their sight for very long…

"Listen," Harry began uncertainly. "You don't have to sit with me, you know. I'm a big boy now…"

He looked uncertain though, as if the last thing he wanted was for Aberforth to leave…

Aberforth shrugged. "Not like I've got anything better to do. It will be nice to have human company for a change. Besides, it's not good to drink alone."

Aberforth met Potter's eyes with a knowing look, but instead of replying, Potter just looked pointedly at Aberforth's glass. Aberforth conceded the point with a nod.

"Take it from someone who knows then," Aberforth continued with a shrug, refilling his glass and taking a small sip. Potter seemed to consider that for a moment before refilling his own glass. He didn't ask Aberforth to leave though, which Aberforth took as a point to him.

"Suit yourself," the boy said, but Aberforth thought he detected a little bit of relief in the boy's eyes.

They were quiet for a few minutes then, with Aberforth studying Potter, and Potter in turn studying his glass. The silence dragged on, but Aberforth had always been rather comfortable in silence, so predictably, he wasn't the one to break it.

"I'm not here to talk," the boy said, perhaps noticing the scrutiny.

Aberforth was surprised, but covered it quickly.

"Course you are," Aberforth replied easily, ignoring the anger that burst into the boy's eyes at the comment. "But if you don't _want_ to talk, I'm not going to make you. I'm just a barkeeper, lad, not a therapist."

"Right," Potter replied with a roll of his eyes. "And your brother was 'just' a Headmaster..."

Aberforth frowned. "I'm not my brother, Mr Potter. You'll do well to remember that."

There was a beat where something unspoken passed between them, but it was over in a second.

"Sorry," Potter muttered, apparently sincerely.

"No matter," Aberforth said, waving away the apology. "Water under the bridge."

"The truth is, I _do_ know that you're not much like your brother," Potter began quietly.

"Oh?" Aberforth replied.

"Yeah," Potter nodded. "And I'm…I'm starting to think that's a good thing. Or maybe I'm not. I just don't know anymore…"

Aberforth nodded in understanding. "Albus always did have that effect on the people he was closest to."

"I know."

"Yeah, I reckon you do," Aberforth replied quietly.

The silence descended on them again them, and Aberforth found himself trying to puzzle out the mystery that was Harry Potter. For his part, Potter was fiddling with his glass now instead of drinking.

"I just…I don't know how to do it," Potter mumbled quietly.

"Excuse me?"

"How to be like him," Potter continued, eyes fixed firmly downwards.

"You want to be like my brother?" Aberforth asked. He had no idea what the boy was trying to say.

"No," Potter replied. "Not exactly. But I think everyone expects me to be like him. I just…I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing."

"Is that why you're here?" Aberforth asked shrewdly. "You're hoping to get some tips on how act like my brother…?"

Potter stood up suddenly. "I knew this was a stupid idea…"

"Sit down, Mr Potter," Aberforth said, his voice expressing some of the Dumbledore authority that ran in his DNA.

Potter sat.

"Just start from the beginning, lad," Aberforth said, careful to keep his voice calm. "Why _are_ you here?"

"To have a quiet drink," Potter repeated. He wrung his hands nervously. Then, "And…because I can't talk to anyone else about this. They wouldn't understand, and…"

"You think I would," Aberforth finished. "Because of Albus."

Potter nodded, and Aberforth sighed.

"I hate to disappoint you, Mr Potter, but I didn't know my brother very well. I'm not sure…"

"You still knew him better than I did," Potter replied, and there was something there in the boy's expression, something that told Aberforth just how bitter and hurt Potter was. Oh Albus…

"This isn't just about your relationship with him though," Aberforth asked after a few seconds, changing the subject because he had no idea what else to say. "There's more to it than that, isn't there?"

Potter kept his eyes down as he replied, "People keep looking at me like I'm supposed to know how to fix everything. Our world is broken, people are dead, and everyone is looking to me as if I can fix it all. Except how can I? I'm as broken as they are. More so, even…"

"You can't," Aberforth found himself saying. "No one could possibly expect a seventeen year old –"

Potter laughed, but it was a bitter sound. "Are you kidding? _Everyone_ expects it. Except the Weasleys, I suppose, but I actually _want_ to be able to help them."

"Mr Potter…"

"Your brother," Potter interrupted. "He didn't seem to mind that everyone looked to him for all the answers."

"Oh, but he did," Aberforth replied heavily. "He took on the burden because no one else could, but he didn't enjoy it."

He might not have known his brother well, but that much he _did_ know.

"But he could still handle it," Potter argued. "I'm…"

"Seventeen years old," Aberforth repeated. "Albus was over one hundred. He had a lot more time to get to a place where he was comfortable carrying that burden. So, lad, give yourself time."

"What do I do until then?" Potter asked, looking much more like a small boy than the young man he knew he was.

"Walk on, Mr Potter," Aberforth said simply. At Potter's questioning look, he continued. "At the end of the day, this is _your_ life, and I reckon you'll be wasting it if you try and please everyone all the time. You need to take time for yourself. You need to _live._ You have a second chance now. Use it. Use it to do the things you've always wanted to do. The Wizarding world is fickle, Mr Potter. It always have been and it always will be. They'll find reason to be unhappy no matter what you do."

"So I just…walk on?" Potter asked, frowning. "I just…what? Forget about them all? All the people who need me?"

"They don't need _you_ ," Aberforth replied with a shake of his head. "They need someone, anyone. And that someone doesn't have to be you. There are a lot of people out there who are willing to share the burden, Potter."

Potter took a long drink of his Firewhiskey, but Aberforth was pleased to see that he at least appeared to be considering his words.

"My brother, with all his power and brains, was alone. You are not," he continued. "You would do well to remember that."

"I haven't talked to anyone about it," Potter replied. "Apart from you, I mean."

"Then perhaps that's where you should start," Aberforth replied with a smile that for once felt natural on his face. "You're staying with the Weasley's, are you not?"

Potter nodded.

"Then I would suggest that talking to them should be your first step," Aberforth continued. "I reckon you can trust them more than most."

"They've been brilliant," Potter replied with a sad smile. "Even with losing…" he shook his head."I feel like…like I'm one of them now."

"Then I'm sure they won't mind sharing this burden with then, will they?" Aberforth said pointedly. "After all, isn't that what families do?"

"I…suppose it is," Potter replied, a little more resolve in his eyes that when he'd first arrived. That, if nothing else, was progress.

"So," began Aberforth after another couple of minutes had passed, "Do you think you'll be okay to get back home by yourself, or do you want me to Firecall Mrs Weasley to come and pick you up?"

"I'm not a child," Potter replied, standing up. He wobbled slightly, but managed to stay on his feet. "I can hold my liquor."

"I can see that," Aberforth replied, hiding his amusement as Potter stumbled slightly on his way to the door.

"I'll get back okay," Potter reiterated, although Aberforth wasn't sure who he was trying to convince. "I…I have to talk to my family."

The boy smiled, and suddenly Aberforth felt a tinge of something foreign in his chest, something that he hadn't felt for a very long time.

Something undeniably _good._

"Thank you, Mr Dumbledore."

"You're welcome, Mr Potter," he replied gruffly, uncomfortable with any form of sincere gratitude. Then he acted on impulse. "Come back anytime. Drinks are on the house for you."

"I might just do that," the young man replied with another smile. "You know, I don't think you're all that different from your brother, really. And…well, maybe that's not such a bad thing after all."

And on that note Potter turned to leave, perhaps worrying about how Aberforth would react to the rather impertinent suggestion. Aberforth, though, could only smile.

Aberforth Dumbledore knew he was nothing like his brother. Except, when it came to Harry Potter, maybe he was. And maybe, just maybe, that _wasn't_ such a bad thing after all. Maybe it was even good...

"Walk on, Mr Potter," Aberforth muttered quietly as he watched the young man slowly make his way out of the pub, holding his back just a little bit straighter in spite of his mild inebriation, and his shoulders just a little bit higher. "Walk on."

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 **A/N -** So how was it? Did you like my little story? I've recently had quite a few ideas for one-shots featuring some of the lesser known characters as unlikely but hopefully realistic mentors of Harry (of which this is only one). I've done a few one-shots already, and I even wrote a short story not that long ago featuring Arabella Figg that got a lot of love. Next up, I'm thinking maybe Hagrid or Bill Weasley, although I'm definitely open to ideas. Let me know what you'd like to read and I'll see what I can do. For now though, and until next time, thanks for reading!


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